


Collide with the Sky

by 69inthe67impala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:39:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/69inthe67impala/pseuds/69inthe67impala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Album-based fic.  I choose an album and build a piece of fiction around the title of the album and titles of the songs.  The title of the album is the title of the fic and the song titles are chapters.  This particular one is based off of:</p><p>Pierce the Veil - Collide with the Sky</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May These Noises Startle You In Your Sleep Tonight

_ If you wanted to set me free _

_Why the fuck wouldn't you say something?_  
 _See, I was just over seventeen_  
 _Made of poison, cave in free._

_Oh no, please, don't abandon me_  
 _Mother, father, I love you so_  
 _But this is just me disguised as me_  
 _I'm the killer who burned your home_

_This home_  
 _What the fuck is this home?_

  
Stanford, California. They had driven through the state once or twice before but never stayed long. It was nice. Driving along the coast was always an experience with a spectacular view, and that ocean. The long outstretch of blue that faded into a lighter or darker shade depending on the time of day made it seem like the only prison someone could keep themselves in was their mind. There was promise that there was something always over that horizon. The sun didn't always have to set. He could chase it if he wanted.

Dean would have loved it, he thought. He could practically hear the rumble of the Impala, and if he listened hard enough, that sound would gently crash with the waves rolling onto shore. He wouldn't talk about how beautiful it was. He'd park on the high way shoulder and sit on the hood. He'd crack two beers and hand one over to him. He'd sip and stare at the shimmering water. He'd watch the sunset paint the sky orange and pink. He'd stay quiet with a hand shoved in his worn leather jacket. He'd finish his beer and stare at the bottle as if coming to terms that it was empty. He'd glance at him and give him a small smile. Then he'd throw the bottle away and they'd drive away. Dean wouldn't chase the sun.


	2. Hell Above

Sleeping alone was hard. It was even harder sleeping with someone and not getting the satisfaction he usually would from a body next to his. The blonde hair, green eyes, freckles, and full lips were on the wrong body. She was softer. There were no callouses. No hints of whiskey and gun powder. But she was different. Jessica Moore was the promise of a normal future.

Sam breathed out a quiet sigh as he settled in next to her. He pulled the blanket up a little higher on her arm before his fingers traveled down the smooth skin, making the small jump from her elbow to her hip. She stirred lightly in her sleep and scooted her butt back in invitation for closeness and Sam nestled closer, exhaling against her hair.

"You okay?" She asked, her voice dreamy.

"I'm alright," Sam responded quietly. He drew his fingers over the waistband of her panties on her hip and leaned in to press a kiss to her neck. His legs fit behind hers, spooning her against his larger frame.

"You've been coming to bed later and later. You sure there's nothing on your mind?" She muffled into the pillow, fitting herself perfectly into the bend of his body.

"I'm sure," he replied and moved his hand to sit on her abdomen. Jessica moved her hand to grasp his as she turned to face him.

"You smell like whiskey."

Sam exhaled again and shifted to sit up, sending a hand through his hair. 

"What's going on with you, Sam? I know it's not school related because you've never had any trouble there." She sat up as well, tucking her knees in arms and the blankets followed. "Did something happen? Maybe.. family trouble?"

Sam's face fell and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Family. Ugh. He hated the subject, but Jessica seemed so keen on trying to pry open his closet of skeletons. She usually approached it delicately and let it go when Sam was firm in his rejection, but he had admit that she was getting particularly good at noticing the subtle changes when Dean was on his mind.

"Baby, talk to me," her voice sang and reached his ear the same time her hand reached his shoulder. "You can trust me. Everyone has issues with their families. Maybe it's time to come to terms with yours."

"Why do you feel the need to constantly bring this up? If I wanted to talk about it, I'd fucking talk about it," Sam snapped, slapping his hands gently against his thighs. Jessica removed her hand and let her gaze lower towards the sheets. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you want me to share, but that's just a part of my life I don't like to talk about. With anyone," he explained. "I don't even like thinking about it." He turned his head and gave an apologetic look as he reached out and touched her hand. "It's a sensitive subject. My relationship with my brother has always been very… complicated," he sighed.

The sting of memories came back quickly and the pain could be seen on his face. Dean was the whole damn reason he was here in the first place. He would have stayed if Dean asked him to. Hell, Sam even asked Dean to ask him to stay, yet here he was.

"Okay, Sam," Jess replied and offered him a smile. She moved her hand to curl her fingers over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Let's just get some rest, hm? We can do something together tomorrow to help get your mind off of everything." She laid a kiss to the back of his shoulder before she laid back down, her back to him.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at her and frowned. It wasn't Jess' fault that his fuse was so short when it came to familial issues. In a life that systematically smothered him, breaking away had been the single most painful thing he had done. He stood from the bed and made his way back downstairs, leaving the door creaked open just slightly in a silent promise that'd he return. 

He revisited the whiskey he had left out, pouring himself half a glass. The scent filled his nostrils and he closed his eyes. The last time whiskey had been strong on his lips was when it was left there by Dean. _Sammy.._ Sam opened his eyes and took in a heavy breath before he shook the sound from his ears. If he wanted to hear it again, he could probably call his brother up and hope that he was half a bottle deep and mildly regretful. But he wouldn't give Dean that satisfaction of cracking first. He was the one who walked away, after all.

He tipped his head back and drained his glass before he reached out to grab the bottle, dragging it with him to the couch. He sunk into the cushions and poured himself another drink, watching it drain slowly until he was satisfied. The television came on with a click and he turned down the volume to where it was only a gentle buzz of white noise, something that was subtle enough to draw his attention out of his own head. 

Sam drank until his mind felt as fuzzy as the TV screen he was staring at through blood shot eyes. It was one of those stupid tela-nova shows that Dean would occasionally watch despite the language barrier, and the longer he watched, the more his chest started to cramp. He dug his hand into his pocket and withdrew his phone, flipping it open and scrolling through the numbers until it highlighted over one simple letter; D. Sam's focus shifted up briefly over the top of his phone, watching as a couple embraced dramatically and the suave protagonist stole the last muttered 'por favor' off her lips with an aggressive kiss. He scowled at the screen and pressed the send button, staring at it a few moments after before it started to ring.

Suddenly he felt hot. There was an uncomfortable prickling under his ears as he held the phone to one of them, sort of hoping that it'd be an old number or just go to voicemail, but when one of the rings was cut off midway, Sam's heart all but stopped.

Silence.

Sam cleared his throat and pulled his phone away from his ear briefly to check if the call was still connected.

"D-Dean?" he asked, voice hushed as he looked towards the stairs quickly.

"Heya, Sammy."

Sam's eyes closed immediately as Dean's voice rang through his head. It had been years since he had heard the slow drawl of the tire on gravel rumble of his brother's voice. Quick flashes of Dean's smile from the driver's seat of the Impala crept behind his eye lids and he had to bring his hand up to will them away with a rough press. Summers, Falls, quiet nights gazing up at the stars with a symphony of crickets as their soundtrack. His chest ached and heaved a shaky sigh.

"Why haven't you called me, Jerk?" Sam gave a nervous laugh and expected a quick retort of 'bitch' right back at him, but he was met with another bout of silence.

"You know why, Sam," Dean finally spoke. Sam's shoulders slumped and he dragged his teeth with a little more force over his bottom lip. It was hard to swallow. His breathing became uneven.

"You knew I had to leave, Dean. You could have stopped me," Sam trailed off before he brought a hand to cover his mouth, his eyes glassy. 

"I know it's hard, but who are you to fall apart on me?" Dean questioned. Sam could hear his brother shifting the phone in his grasp. He must have been lying down. "You walked out on me."

"You didn't want to stop me," Sam managed. "I asked you to stop me. I didn't want to leave you, I just wanted something more."

"Something I couldn't give you."

"The consequence was if I leave I'm alone, but what's the difference when you beg for love?"

"Sam, please.."

Sam tried his damnedest to hold back tears, though one from each eye managed to escape. He held his breath for a few moments to dispel sobbing. Years later and Sam was still crying, still desperate to have Dean want him just as badly as he wanted him. It was sick.

"What we did was wrong. You have to move on to someone else. Someone normal. A nice girl or boy, or whatever. Just not me," Dean suggested quietly, though his voice was rougher than usual, like he had just gargled with vinegar. 

"I met a girl, you know," Sam started, sniffling as he took a quick breath. "She never looked so alone." Jessica was a strange type of sweet, like sugar water in your mouth, lukewarm. "She tied a cherry stem with her tongue for me. We fell in love, but now we're both alone," he spoke with a forced laugh, leaning back on the sofa with a deflated posture. "She's almost you. Same birthday and everything."

"I can't do this, Sammy," Dean sighed. Sam could almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose. He could see the defeat on his face and the set frown that caused lines between his eyebrows. He could almost hear the pain. "I can't. I'm sorry."

There was a click on the other end and Sam sat there, staring at the ceiling almost in disbelief. Same conversation. Same ending. He finally shut his phone and laid it on his lap, letting the rejection fester further.


End file.
